“You need to read this book!” The refrain continued for two years, each time I saw my voracious book-reading friend, holly lu. Finally, she brought me her copy. Boy, howdy, did I need to read this book! The Cracker Queen: A Memoir of a Jagged, Joyful Life by Lauretta Hannon is probably the most entertaining memoir I’ve ever consumed—and did I hungrily—and also probably one of the best examples of creative nonfiction upon which I’ve ever feasted. (The italics within quotes are mine.)
And what a story. This small-town turned big city higher education public relations executive writes in the opening of her debut book—the one she dreamed of writing for decades and put off that many more:
“Our stories show that hardship and hard living are great enhancers. I’m pretty sure that the pretty people have things to say too, but I prefer my pathos to come from somebody dressed in Kmart duds and missing a few front teeth. It just makes for a better story.”
The Cracker Queen is gritty and hard scrabble because that’s just the homelife Hannon endured—and flourished within. Despite an almost incredulous dysfunctional family life, Hannon felt cherished by her mama and jazz musician daddy, who had “a deep and disorderly love with years of booze, infidelities, and nervous breakdowns.” Sharp, witty and jammed with so many clever turns of phrases that my poor (stolen…never to be returned) copy buldges from turned-down page corners. Those pages bleed yellow from the eager markings of my zealous highlighter. Frequently, I interrupted Husband 2.0’s nightly book consumption to read aloud passages crafted by Hannon’s brilliant, creative and hilarious voice. We’d belly laugh, shaking the bed and then our heads with disbelief at Hannon’s worsmithery. “The greatest luxury of childhood was time spent among the stacks of the Warner Robins library, inhaling the unmistakable aroma of printed paper. If the essence of that smell could be distilled, I’d wear it as cologne and drizzle it on my grits in the morning.”
“[…]Chain gangs, guns, ghost hunting, moonshine stands, scooter-pootin’ and more” graced Hannon with a resilience, humor and appreciation for her roots. Yet, a sprinkling of loving teachers and distant aunts—and her insatiable love of books–nutured Hannon’s striving spirit. “You either dream measly dreams or far-fetched ones such as what you’ll do if you win the lottery. You live on the defense, waiting for the disappointment to reveal itself and for everything to fold. Menacing voices roost in your brain, ready to steer you in the wrong direction when a life-changing opportunity comes. They chant, ‘You can’t do that you’re not good enough. You won’t succeed.’”
The last third of her book morphs into a bit of self-help manual. While I agreed with Hannon’s conclusions on life, I squirmed a little with the harsh transition and slower pace, but I understood her sense of urgency to explain how she’d come out on the other side of a rough-and-tumble life and how she continues to seek a better existence than the two-hour commute across Atlanta to collect a paycheck. Through the book’s final portion Hannon’s same spunky voice lured me to the very last page: “Every creature, whether human, buzzard, catfish or lightning bug, has about two billion heartbeats to spend in a lifetime. Time is short. Put tutus on your skeletons. Dance in the cemetery.”
The Cracker Queen belongs on the bookshelves with the Sweet Potato Queen series, yet, it’s several notches above in its’ literary worthiness. And, though the stories are several social classes apart, The Cracker Queen holds its’ own alongside The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. This was one of the most delicious reads I’ve devoured in a long time. Bravo!
